


a brief introduction to basic chemistry

by nighimpossible



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-24 22:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16184675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nighimpossible/pseuds/nighimpossible
Summary: “Did our TA just chug a beer in front of us?” Beau gasps in delight.Caleb belches loudly, wiping his mouth with his palm.Beau slaps another can into his hand, absolutely captivated. “Again.”





	a brief introduction to basic chemistry

**Author's Note:**

> The AU where Caleb is Nott's chemistry TA. Everyone besides Nott is still an undergraduate.
> 
> Big thanks to Grey and Jordan for their eyes on this!

 

 

 

“Chemistry blows,” the girl in the dark blue athleisure sitting in the last row of class groans. She ties her hair into a top-knot with furious gusto, exposing a toned abdomen that Caleb doesn’t exactly lust after but does find fairly impressive. If she spent half as much time studying for class as focusing on her core strength, she might be having a better experience in Chemistry 110. This is not the first time Caleb has heard this particular student—he _thinks_ she goes by Beau—complain about the class, and honestly he doubts it will be the last. “Why are we here again. Fjord?”

 

“Because we need a science class to graduate, and the curves in Dr. Nott’s classes are usually generous,” Fjord says patiently. He runs a frustrated hand through his grey forelock. “Beau, we’ve been over this.”

 

Fjord once held the door open for Caleb, which is—in truth—a stupid reason for Caleb to remember his name.

 

“Did you start on that problem set yet?” Beau asks conspiratorially.

 

“Wait. What problem set?” Fjord’s concern is palpable.

 

Beau punches Fjord in the arm and snickers, “I’m just fucking with you.” Caleb has to bury his face in his scarf to muffle his own chuckle.

 

When Nott had asked Caleb to be a teaching assistant for her basic chemistry course, Caleb had hesitated. Chemistry isn’t his major—he recently declared in history—but it’s hard to say no to her. “You aced the class last year, you’ll be more than fine with this new crop of ne'er-do-wells,” Nott said, waving off his concerns with a small but gnarled hand.

 

So Caleb sits in the back of each class and runs a supplemental instruction session for struggling students a few times a week. It’s not a hard job and he gets work-study money for his trouble. Occasionally, if they need it, Caleb will hold office hours for students that need more one-on-one attention. Mostly, he fools around at the back of the auditorium on his laptop until Nott’s lecture is over. Sometimes, he’ll proctor the exams if Nott is busy in her lab. It’s an easy gig and it pays well—at least in comparison to his last job at the tutoring center.

 

“Problem set due Monday, exam next Friday—prepare yourselves,” is how Nott ends the lecture. It’s an semi-helpful scare tactic that mostly sends a harried crew of pre-med students in Caleb’s direction to ask about how hard the exam is going to be. Nott has instructed Caleb to tell the class that it will be “the most impossible test ever concocted!” Caleb, who is truly a merciful god, tells the worried group gathered around him that it will be manageable if they have kept up with their classwork, which is true.

 

By the time Beau and Fjord have reappeared, Caleb has dealt with most of his hand-holding for the day. “Thanks, Caleb!” JB says with a grateful expression on her face before darting out of the classroom.

 

“You should ask for help on the exam,” Fjord suggests to Beau under his breath, nudging her forwards. “Say something to Caleb. Helping us is his job.” Caleb pretends to fiddle with his laptop cover while Beau approaches.

 

“Give us the exam answer key,” Beau greets. She flashes him a toothy smile that could only be described as menacing.

 

“Jesus Christ,” Fjord groans.

 

“No,” Caleb replies pleasantly. “I don’t think so. A for effort, though.”

 

“Say something _else,_ ” Fjord says through gritted teeth. He covers his eyes with his broad palm, as if by averting his gaze, he can pretend to be somewhere else entirely.

 

“Give us the answer key, please?” Beau corrects, looking to Fjord for approval.

 

“What she _means_ to say,” Fjord sighs, letting his hand fall away, “is that we need help.” He steps in between Beau and Caleb, shooting Beau an obvious glare. “This isn’t really our...area of expertise.”

 

Caleb looks up at Fjord from his now zipped backpack. “I am here to help,” Caleb nods. “Though I haven’t seen either of you at any of my supplemental instruction meetings so far.”

 

“That’s when the swim team practices,” Fjord says smoothly. Caleb subtly looks him up and down to find the tell-tale broad shoulders and lean waist that tend to go hand in hand with varsity swimming and diving. The Soltryce University sweatshirt spreads nicely across his chest. His story checks out—which is, of course, why Caleb was ogling. Just fact-checking.

 

“And you?” Caleb asks, clearing his throat and turning to Beau.

 

“Yeah, if Fjord’s not there, I’m sure as hell not,” Beau shrugs. She gestures at him with a few disdainful, wiggling fingers. “You’re not really my speed.”

 

“What is your speed, exactly?” Caleb has to ask.

 

“Girls,” Beau grins. “Well. Girls and deadlifting.” She flexes, and again, Caleb can’t help but feel impressed.

 

“Well, I can’t give you the answer key, for obvious reasons,” Caleb says.

 

“Whatever,” Beau snips.

 

“ _But_ I have office hours every evening next week,” Caleb offers. “We can go over the problems you’re missing then.”

 

“That sounds nice,” Fjord nods. He clears his throat and elbows Beau in the side. “Can I talk to you for a moment? It won’t take real long.” He nods at Beau, who shoulders her backpack and makes her way out of the classroom.

 

Caleb leans back against the edge of the desk. “You’re worried you won’t pass,” he nods.

 

Fjord hums. “Like I said—not my area of expertise. And the syllabus puts so much weight on the exams.” He grins, and Caleb notes that his teeth are white and well-taken care of. “I’m more of a military history buff.”

 

“A jock into military history? Shocking,” Caleb jokes. Caleb pauses, and when Fjord’s worry doesn't fade, he pats him awkwardly on the arm. “You’ll pass. You did fine on the last problem set. And Nott doesn’t fail people who try.” Caleb gestures between them. “And you’re clearly trying.”

 

Fjord tilts his head down at Caleb. “You sure about that?”

 

Caleb shrugs, hoisting his messenger bag onto his right shoulder. “Nott looks mean, but she’s a real softie at heart.” At that, Fjord barks out a laugh that echoes around the lecture hall.

  
“Wish I could tell you similar about Beau, but she’s actually a real hardass,” Fjord admits as the two of them make their way out of the science building. “Gets shit done, though.”

 

“Besides chemistry, you mean,” Caleb shrugs. Fjord laughs again and the two walk out of the chemistry building in tandem step.

 

“We should be friendlier than we are, Caleb,” Fjord grins as he walks Caleb across campus. “You’re funny. I didn’t know you were funny.” Leaves in every variation of orange and yellow crunch beneath their feet.

 

“I’d call us pretty friendly,” Caleb shrugs. Of the jocks that Caleb knows on campus, Fjord has always been fairly polite.

 

“Friendlier,” Fjord repeats. “That’s what I meant.”

 

“Okay,” Caleb nods. “Friendlier.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You forgot to cancel the units,” Caleb says as gently as possible.

 

Beau is very still. “One moment,” she says sweetly before vigorously stabbing her pencil into her notebook approximately eleven-thousand times.

 

“If it makes you feel any better, math is my least favorite part of most things,” Caleb says, scooting back from the display of violence with wide-eyed shock. “Including chemistry.”

 

Beau’s head jerks up. She narrows her eyes at Caleb before tossing her notebook over on the ground by Fjord in a fit of frustration.

 

“We still haven’t gone over the last two problems,” Caleb points out delicately.

 

Beau sighs before gesturing at Fjord, who is standing in front of the thrown notebook. “Bro, grab that for me?”

 

“Did you just throw your shit on the ground?” Fjord asks incredulously before bending over and picking up the notebook. And, well. Caleb is human and it’s a nice butt.

 

“Oh ho,” Beau grins, pointing her semi-destroyed pencil at Caleb like she’s just solved a great mystery. She bounces the pencil between Caleb’s eye-line and Fjord’s ass like she’s finally solved a math equation. “ _That’s_ interesting.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Caleb says stiffly. Beau snorts and Caleb feels his face get hot. “Please stop,” he begs Beau in a quiet voice as Fjord flips through Beau’s notebook, oblivious. “ _You’re exploiting him_.”

 

“Tell me the answer to number fourteen or I have him bend over again,” Beau hisses at Caleb.

 

“Telling you the answer won’t help you learn!” Caleb whispers back in exasperation.

 

“Did you figure out the problem yet, Beau?” Fjord asks from over Beau’s shoulder. Beau waggles her eyebrows at Caleb.

 

“It’s five-point-two-seven,” Caleb gives in.

 

“Coward,” Beau sneers before writing the answer onto her homework sheet.

 

For all the trials and tribulations Caleb goes through during his tutoring with Beau, they actually do get the problem set done. In addition, Caleb feels pretty confident that Beau is leaving his office hours with more knowledge than she had upon arrival, despite how he had cracked under pressure. It's just not very appropriate to have crushes on your students, even if they're only a sophomore and you're a junior. It's a line that Caleb probably should not cross.

 

Caleb tries to clear his mind of whatever attraction he may or may not harbor. It's not like something is going to come of it.

 

“Anything I can help you with, Fjord?” Caleb asks, leaning back against the chalkboard.

 

“Just show me where I went wrong here,” Fjord requests, bringing forward his paper. Caleb finds Fjord’s arithmetic error pretty quickly and grabs Fjord’s pencil. He presses the paper against the chalkboard as Fjord drifts closer to watch.

 

“You see here? If you use the pressure and volume formula instead—” Caleb makes an arrow and scrawls _PV=nRT_ in messy cursive. He feels Fjord approach him from behind, close enough that Caleb can feel his warmth along the line of his back. Caleb clears his throat. “It’s, uh, it’s just the ideal gas law. Not so bad.”

 

Fjord takes the pencil from Caleb’s hand but doesn’t move away, simply starts scribbling on the paper from behind Caleb. He rests his wrist on Caleb’s shoulder, his arm twitching as he scratches out the final answer. Hyper-focused on the place where their bodies are touching, Caleb tries to stay as still as possible.

 

“Got it,” Fjord says with finality, drawing a box around his corrected answer. “Damn. That’s impressive, knowing exactly what I needed.”

 

Caleb focuses on trying not to flush again. “Good luck on the exam,” he balks, stepping away from the chalkboard and Fjord.

 

Fjord salutes him on the way out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb proctors the midterm while Nott pops in and out of the classroom. “I’m monitoring a very important experiment involving _extremely_ volatile acid, so I can’t stay,” Nott sighs dramatically as the test begins. “Just be sure to kill any cheaters.”

 

“Turn cheaters in to the honor council, got it,” Caleb translates.

 

“You always do know what I mean,” Nott says with a grin.

 

JB turns her exam in fairly quickly—she’s a smart girl who Caleb thinks will make it through the drudgery of pre-med requirements easily enough. Beau also turns her exam in early, albeit with a few questions left blank. It’s better than her usual result, however, and Caleb takes her affectionate middle finger as a sign of gratitude.

 

Fjord is one of the last to hand in his sheet. Caleb is already starting to grade the stack of exams on the desk, so when Fjord is finished he leaves his paper on the pile. “Hope I did you proud,” he tells Caleb quietly, the back of his hand brushing against Caleb’s forearm. It’s an accidental graze, and yet it still sends a shudder down Caleb’s back.

 

“I’m sure you did great,” Caleb nods.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Caleb,” the security guard sighs. “Library’s closed.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Caleb huffs under his breath, packing up his carrel. “You know, I never understood why the library _has_ to close.” He’s _this close_ to finding a good source for the second part of his thesis. Ikithon wants an update next week and, for a variety of important reasons, Caleb can’t chance coming anywhere close to disappointing him.

 

“ _You don’t have to go home_ ,” the guard hums under his breath, “ _but you can’t stay here_.”

 

Caleb flips him off surreptitiously when the guard turns back towards the elevator bank. When he finally does make it out of the library, he takes a deep breath of fresh air so crisp that he’s almost convinced that leaving was the right thing to do. Caleb hums to himself as he walks along the cobblestoned campus paths toward home.

 

Friday nights at Soltrice University are generally fairly raucous—if you know where to go. Caleb avoids places that hold these rollicking weekend festivities: he’s not much of a social creature anymore. Sure, these days he has a few good friends, but the idea of getting as plastered as he used to get in high school isn’t very appealing. After all, he has those ungraded exams burning a hole in his bag. Nott wants them back by Monday.

 

But just because Caleb avoids revelry doesn’t mean that the revelry avoids him.

 

One of the worst parts about Caleb’s off-campus housing is that he has to walk past fraternity row to get home. Usually, if he keeps his head down, he only gets a few cans of beer thrown at him on the walk to his apartment. It’s not a malevolent act, as far as Caleb understands. It’s just idiots having some idiot fun.

 

His reflexes have gotten better since freshman year. Caleb rubs the back of his head in sympathetic remembrance of when a Kappa had had some rather dead-on aim.

 

“Caleb!” a voice crows from the porch of one of the houses. “ _Cayyyyy-leb_.” The tone is sing-songy, and Caleb stops in his tracks long enough for someone to pelt him with a crushed can of PBR.

 

“Ow,” Caleb mutters, shaking his arm out as the crushed aluminum scatters to the sidewalk at his feet.

 

“Suck it up,” Beau grins, hopping down from the porch of one of the frat houses. “Man, did you see that spiral, Fjord?”

 

“You wanna invite the nice man up for a beer?” Caleb can see the whites of Fjord’s teeth from the sidewalk. “We have something to celebrate, after all.”

 

“Get your ass up here before I throw something else,” Beau threatens. She raises her eyebrow at Fjord unsubtly.

 

Caleb carefully picks his way across the front lawn. “You know, strangely enough, when your work ends, mine begins.”

 

Fjord is dressed in a cropped pinnie that reads “SWIM” across the front like a command. It barely grazes his navel. “You can have one drink,” Fjord cajoles, palming a can into Caleb’s hand from the cooler at his feet. “Consider it a thank you.” Fjord smells like bread and sweat. Everything about this situation is anathamous to Caleb, and yet he pops open the can all the same.

 

“I have exams to grade,” Caleb says before drinking deeply.

 

Just because Caleb avoids parties doesn’t mean that he’s not accustomed to the taste of beer. Caleb has German roots and an uncle with a hollow leg. He might not have the best tolerance anymore, but he can crush a can of beer easily.

 

“Holy shit,” Fjord says quietly.

 

Caleb collapses the now empty can between his palms. It’s a simple party trick, one that he did countless times back in Blumenthal. It’s not something he pulls out often here at Soltryce, but Caleb figures it’s benign enough. And part of him does want to show off.

 

“Did our TA just chug a beer in front of us?” Beau gasps in delight.

 

Caleb belches loudly, wiping his mouth with his palm.

 

Beau slaps another can into his hand, absolutely captivated. “Again.”

 

Caleb, in turn, tosses the beer back to Fjord. “One drink, right?” He nods at the two of them. Beau is looking at him with admiration plastered over her face, but when Caleb’s eyes drift to Fjord, he cannot parse the expression in his eyes. Caleb clears his throat. “I’ll see you both on Monday. Enjoy the weekend.”

 

Caleb is halfway down fraternity row when he hears footsteps racing behind him. Looking over his shoulder, he sees a Fjord-shaped blur sprinting down the hill. Caleb comes to a standstill. “Slow down, Harrison.”

 

Fjord rolls his eyes as he comes to a halt in front of Caleb. “I’ve heard that one before.” He’s panting, a visible sheen of sweat glistening across his forehead. The yellow-green neon light of the party inside Beta shines luminescent against Fjord’s skin. They stand together on the sidewalk for a long moment in mutual silence.

 

“Did you forget something?” Caleb suggests.

 

Fjord bites his lip for a moment before replying, “Your number.”

 

Caleb nearly trips over his own laces. “I don’t think I ever gave you that.”

 

“What if I want to talk?” Fjord presses.

 

“To me?” Caleb tries to clarify. Fjord must be blackout drunk at this point, Caleb is certain.

 

“To you,” Fjord nods.

 

“Listen, you’re not going to get any hints on the next midterm,” Caleb balks. “Or bonus points on the exam you took today.”

 

“I don’t want hints,” Fjord says. “Or bonuses.”

 

“You won’t get any,” Caleb warns again.

 

“Fine,” Fjord says.

 

“Fine!” Caleb says, sticking out his hand. “Give me your phone.” It’s a decision made on a whim, driven by the way Fjord is looking down at him. Really, it’s not a decision at all. It’s a reflex. Caleb isn’t great at confrontation.

 

“That was pretty impressive back there,” Fjord says. Caleb can feel Fjord watching him type his number into the cellphone. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

 

Caleb laughs, looking anywhere but at Fjord. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

 

“So tell me,” Fjord nods. He doesn’t seem to be taking Caleb’s words like Caleb means them. He’s not backing off.

 

“You’re drunk,” Caleb points out.

 

Fjord laughs and the sound is sweet to the ear. “That I am, Caleb.” His smile comes easy. “Text me when you get home. I’ll message you my contact info.”

 

Caleb feels himself flush. “What, are you my babysitter now?”

 

Fjord crosses his arms over his chest. His cropped shirt rides high enough that Caleb can surreptitiously check out Fjord’s fairly toned stomach. “We’re friends.” He pauses. “Or, you know. We can be.” He shrugs at Caleb. “You decide.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Caleb Widogast [1:32am]: Home safe. Drink some water before you go to bed.**

 

**Fjord [1:33am]: :)**

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You look weird,” Molly tells him frankly over his coffee. He's wearing a purple silk robe that is barely tied at the waist. It's their mutual compromise, considering Molly used to walk around the apartment stark naked. “Weird in a good way. I’m not used to you doing _that_ so much.” He waves at Caleb, who looks up from his phone in confusion.

 

“Doing what?” Caleb asks. His phone buzzes in his hand with what he assumes is Fjord’s response to Caleb’s _have you eaten yet?_

 

“Smiling. It’s a good look for you,” Molly notes.

 

Mollymauk Tealeaf is a bad roommate but an excellent friend. In terms of their cohabitation, Molly is about as disorganized and outlandish as Caleb can handle. If Caleb could afford to live by himself and turn Molly’s room into a home library, he would. Something that Molly is excellent at, however, is paying his half of the rent and feeding Frumpkin when Caleb forgets. So the cohabitation continues.

 

Caleb rolls his eyes. “I smile all the time.”

 

“You really don’t,” Molly points out. His robe slips down a little, revealing his shoulder as well as a new portion of his ever-in-progress peacock tattoo.

 

“Did you get more done?” Caleb asks.

 

“As much as I could afford,” Molly nods, lifting up his arm so that the new ink can catch the light properly. “She’s coming along. Food?” He holds up a box of frozen waffles and shakes it lightly.

 

“As appetizing as that sounds, I’m getting lunch with a friend, actually,” Caleb says. “And I need to meet with Ikithon, anyway. He hated my last draft, and it seems like I need to convince him in person that it’s not actually as shit as he thinks it is.”

 

“Friends. Astonishing,” Molly sighs, scratching under Frumpkin’s chin as the orange cat purrs happy. “Alright, I’ll see you later. Don’t let that asshole advisor of yours get you down. He’s too hard on you.”

 

Caleb waves off the warning with a smile. “He’s the most accomplished professor in the department. He must know what he’s talking about.”

 

The look on Molly’s face says otherwise.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You understand that this is unacceptable,” Ikithon says drily. Caleb sits in the chair opposite his advisor, a large desk populated by many trinkets and artifacts that Ikithon has collected over the years. Caleb slouches in an attempt to make himself smaller. Maybe then Ikithon would direct his ire elsewhere. “When I took you on as a student, Caleb, I told you what was expected.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Usually professors in the history department at Soltryce take on fifteen theses a year. Only Caleb, Eodwulf, and Astrid had been chosen by Ikithon—and the fact that more than one student had been selected had made news amongst the university’s academic circles. Trent Ikithon is one of the world’s premiere historians, and anyone he chooses to mentor will produce great things—or die trying.

 

“Start over, Caleb,” Ikithon says with a sigh.

 

“ _Excuse me_ ,” Caleb gasps. He has over a hundred pages of his thesis written already.

 

“I don’t think I need to repeat myself,” Ikithon says coldy, throwing the stack of paper that constitutes Caleb’s former thesis across the small office. The pages shower down upon Caleb like raindrops, and Caleb grabs as many as he can from the air. “New draft by next Monday. Now clean this up and send Astrid in on your way out.”

 

Astrid winces at Caleb’s armful of paper as he passes her in the hall. “He’s in that kind of mood, is he?” she asks forlornly.

 

“He’s always in that kind of mood,” Caleb says darkly, nodding her inside.

 

When Caleb meets Fjord for lunch, Fjord reads his sour expression like a book. “Bad morning?” he asks Caleb as they walk towards the food counter.

 

“You have no idea,” Caleb confirms.

 

Fjord puts a hand on Caleb’s back. “Let me buy you lunch.”

 

Fjord loads his tray up with food for three, and when Caleb protests—he knows what it’s like to live on beggar’s rations as a student—Fjord simply waves him off. “Don’t worry about it,” he shrugs, sliding his tray onto the checkout line and smiling fondly. Caleb furrows his brow until Fjord whips out a fancy looking all-black credit card. _Damn_. Fjord must be some kind of trust fund kid.

 

Fjord catches Caleb’s gaze and slips the card back into his wallet post-swipe. “It’s gonna sound weird, but I kind of have a...benefactor,” he says, purposefully vague. “Nothing too weird, I mean. Just a swim team graduate trying to pay it forward.” He pauses, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. “I think.”

 

When they get back to the table, Beau has appeared. She’s sprawled over several chairs in a nonchalant fashion. “Did Fjord’s sugar daddy hook up the lunch situation?” Beau asks with a leer at the pile of food on Fjord’s tray.

 

“Fuck off,” Fjord sighs, sliding the tray onto the table for the three of them to pick apart.

 

“Whatever, man,” Beau shrugs, digging into a burger. Her next words come out muffled through her food. “Just hope he never starts asking for more than shirtless pics.”

 

Caleb chokes on his water. “ _He asks for_ —”

 

“He’s harmless,” Fjord says, a warning tone in his voice as he stares daggers at Beau. “Besides, not all of us can live off of their family’s trust fund, _Beauregard_.”

 

Beau nods, a shadow of inner turmoil crossing her face for the briefest of moments. “That’s fair." She takes a massive bite of her burger before continuing through a mouthful of food, "Still, you can’t deny that he’s a little creepy.”

 

Caleb unwraps his chicken sandwich while trying to digest this new information as rapidly as possible.

 

“Can we focus on how miserable Caleb looks? Not to point it out,” Fjord amends. “You were gonna tell me what was going on.”

 

“Was I?” Caleb sighs.

 

Caleb doesn’t like complaining about Ikithon to anyone outside Eodwulf or Astrid. It feels like spitting on what ought to be an abundance of riches. Ikithon is an extremely noteworthy historian on campus, and his reputation is fairly stellar—though few get to know him as closely as Caleb. Admitting that Caleb is having problems with Ikithon is almost defeat in and of itself.

 

“Just thesis stuff,” Caleb finally mutters.

 

Fjord frowns. “I know it might feel weird, but you can talk to us. We’re not going to go spilling your secrets everywhere.” Fjord pointedly looks at Beau again.

 

“Again, fair point,” Beau nods. “Alright, alright. My lips are sealed.”

 

Caleb makes a decision. There’s no need to burden his new friends with this knowledge. “I’m really alright, I just have a lot of work to do this week. In fact,” he adds, scarfing down the last bit of lunch, “I have a date with my usual spot in the library this afternoon. See you in class tomorrow.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb busts his ass and manages to crank out fifty pages of new thesis material over the next week. Ikithon seems pleased and Caleb is relieved to have his advisor off his back for the moment.

 

“You look tired,” Nott comments as Caleb dumps a stack of graded problem-sets on her desk. “Junior year thesis got you down?”

 

“No, no,” Caleb lies. “Just having trouble sleeping, that’s all.”

 

“If being my teaching assistant is too much work, Caleb,” Nott trails off in a worried voice.

 

“ _No_ ,” Caleb pleads. This job is his work-study. It’s not exactly something he can lose. “No, I really like working with you, Dr. Nott. I’m fine. Really.”

 

Caleb _does_ enjoy TAing for Nott. It’s a lot of extra work, but it feels like a teasing glimpse into a future within his grasp. Professorship is a pretty great career fit for Caleb.

 

Nott bites her cheek before sighing. “Alright, Caleb. Let me know if I can help you—in any way.” She’s always been a great shoulder to lean on, and Caleb notes that even though Nott doesn’t know about his Ikithon problem, she’s still a wonderful person to have on his team.

 

JB Trickfoot nearly breaks the curve on the midterm and Caleb convinces Nott to give her an elusive A+ so that the rest of the class can keep their respective GPAs intact. Beau does demonstrably better on the exam, and it’s clear that their sessions with Caleb have really given her a real grasp on the material. Fjord improves on the midterm as well, though on paper, he’s one of the better students in the class already. Caleb doesn't really understand Fjord's concern about failing the class.

 

“No one falling behind?” Nott asks Caleb a few weeks later.

 

“Not anymore,” Caleb says confidently.

 

“Take some time for yourself, Caleb,” Nott says with a grin. “Great work.”

 

Caleb promises that he will before marching off towards the library once more.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Fjord [9:37pm]: I need some help. Come over?**

 

Caleb knocks on the door of Fjord’s dorm room with only mild apprehension. Fjord has been coming to supplemental instruction as much as he can—what with swim practice conflicting more often than not—so Caleb doesn’t mind doing some private tutoring. He gets how varsity sports can theoretically get in the way of studying. Not that Caleb has ever had a bone of athleticism in his body. He can imagine, though. Caleb has always had an active imagination.

 

Perhaps not enough of an active imagination, considering that when Fjord answers the door practically naked, Caleb nearly swallows his own tongue.

 

“Glad you could make it,” Fjord smiles, stepping back to let Caleb inside. “‘Scuse the undress, but I figure it’s easier this way.”

 

“ _Easier?_ ” Caleb asks. He darts inside, certain that if anyone saw him and Fjord in this situation from an outside perspective they would gather the wrong idea. Caleb isn’t sure what the right idea here is, but he does know that his cheeks are burning.

 

“Yeah,” Fjord shrugs. The small towel wrapped around his waist hangs precariously along the cut of Fjord’s hips and Caleb cannot look away. “Get it over with real quick.”

 

Caleb clutches at the chemistry book against his chest. “Please explain,” he says tightly.

 

“I just figured, since you know already,” Fjord says, giving Caleb a strange look. “About my patron. The stuff he likes.” Fjord leans his shoulders back against the wall before glancing at Caleb. “Usually I get Beau to take these photos, but she’s got a date tonight. And I need to send him something by tomorrow.”

 

Caleb nearly drops his book. This is definitely not the kind of help he thought he’d be giving tonight.

 

“I’m no photographer,” Caleb balks, but he does put the book down on Fjord’s desk.

 

“Neither is Beau,” Fjord laughs, relief in his voice. “I thought I might have scared you off, there.”

 

“Not scared at all,” Caleb lies. Fjord hands over his phone and Caleb bobbles it in his palm for a moment. Fjord snorts a little.

 

“Where do you want me?” he asks Caleb.

 

“Where do you want to be?” Caleb retorts.

 

Fjord rolls his eyes and hops onto the bed. Caleb averts his gaze while Fjord adjusts his towel, staring directly at the skin between Fjord’s shoulder blades. Droplets of water from Fjord’s recent shower slide down the curves and hollows of his back, and Caleb finds himself distracted.

 

Fjord clears his throat. “How is this?”

 

Caleb doesn’t even look at the viewfinder on the camera before hitting the capture button a few times. “Good. I think.”

 

Fjord slips the towel down a little too far, so that the full curve of his ass is in plain view. Caleb feels caught in the moment, finally taking in the extended view of a basically naked Fjord sprawled across the comforter before him. Caleb’s tongue feels heavy in his own mouth. It’s a fucking sight to see. Every inch of Fjord is toned and muscled into a tight sinewed form. People this pretty don’t give Caleb the time of day. People this pretty don’t exist, usually. “Shit,” Fjord mutters, reaching to cover himself.

 

“Wait,” Caleb says, surprising himself. “It’s okay, I mean—I mean it’s a good look. If you send this kind of thing to your...patron.”

 

Fjord lets the towel fall back down again. “Thought you’d judge me more for this.”

 

“Nothing to judge,” Caleb shrugs. “If I looked the way you do, maybe I’d do this kind of thing, too.”

 

Fjord looks over his shoulder into the camera for a moment before locking eyes with Caleb. “You don’t have to pretend, Caleb. I know it’s a little fucked, this stuff.” Fjord loosens out of the pose and ties the towel once more before turning to face Caleb.

 

“Hey,” Caleb says, putting the phone down. “It’s only fucked if you don’t want to do it. And if that’s the case, we delete these.”

 

Fjord looks at his hands. “You know how it is, feelin' like you owe someone?”

 

Caleb tries not to think of the thesis pages he owes Ikithon but nods all the same. “I do. Maybe not in the same way as you, but I think I do.”

 

“Hard to end things when you feel that way,” is all Fjord replies. Caleb sits on the bed next to Fjord and hands him the phone.

 

“Breaking up is, uh, hard to do,” Caleb says, trying for a joke. Fjord just takes the phone in his hand and looks at the photos Caleb took.

 

“You’re not a bad photographer,” Fjord compliments. “Thank you.”

 

“I think the subject matter speaks for itself,” Caleb defers.

 

Fjord opens up a text message and quickly sends what he deems to be the best shots to his patron. Caleb isn’t trying to spy, but he’s mildly relieved that the more revealing photos Fjord keeps for himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb zones out into the black curtain of Astrid’s long black bob. The sun pokes through the strands of her hair enough that Caleb has to squint. Then again, it’s always been hard for Caleb to look at Astrid head on. “I don’t know what he wants from me,” Astrid continues, plucking flowers from the grass by the hem of her skirt. “I never fucking know what he wants.”

 

Astrid talks about Ikithon like she’s never done well in his eyes, which they all know is a damn lie. Astrid has always been Ikithon’s favorite. Caleb allows Astrid to complain about her thesis work all the same. She’d be difficult to deny if Caleb’s adolescence _hadn’t_ been spent in utter want of her. But it had been, and denying her this small pleasure simply isn’t in the cards for Caleb. He’s killed those feelings as best he could over the intervening years, but in these small moments, he’s still human and Astrid is still Astrid.

 

“You do okay,” Caleb tells her.

 

“Ikithon wants us to suffer,” Eodwulf replies with a shrug. He leans against the tree to Caleb’s left with a casual lilt to his posture, seemingly resigned to whatever this thesis project has in store. “I thought we had figured that out by now.”

 

It’s not uncommon for Ikithon’s protegees to get together and complain about their mentor. Astrid and Eodwulf are childhood friends of Caleb’s from back home, and though they have drifted apart in their college years, they still make a point to check in every once in a while. Make sure everyone’s still kicking.

 

“What sucks is that I can see my writing getting better,” Astrid growls under her breath. “I hate that he’s right.”

 

“He’s not right,” Eodwulf barks back. “He’s an asshole. You’re getting better because you’re—” He waves his hand at her. “You two are the damn wunderkinds, or whatever.”

 

“We’re all wunderkinds here,” Astrid says with an eyeroll. Caleb finds himself focusing on Astrid’s eyelashes—dark, thick, and nearly dusting the skin of her cheeks. “Are you listening, Widogast?” Astrid asks. Caleb shakes himself out of his reverie.

 

“Well, once you figure out how to make Ikithon happy, please pass it along. I think it’ll go up there with the location of the damn Holy Grail,” Eodwulf says with a sigh. “Alright, I need ten more pages before tomorrow. Upon my untimely demise, bury me below the library.”

 

“Will do,” Astrid nods at Eodwulf as he stalks away.

 

“Progress meetings with Ikithon are fucking torture,” Caleb sighs. “How do you get through them?”

 

“I stay on top of my shit. Never put up a fight. Occasionally I let it slip that Eodwulf is behind.” Caleb stiffens at the admission, but Astrid looks calm. “I think that Ikithon...likes that. Likes to think I’m competitive about it.” Astrid shrugs and Caleb just nods. It’s an objectively smart move, directing his ire elsewhere. Even if it is at one of their own.

 

But working with Ikithon has always been about self-preservation, though Caleb does wonder what kind of self makes it out alive by the end. Astrid smiles at him and Caleb tries his best to smile back. He’s not sure what expression he manages, but Astrid’s expression muddles with confusion all the same.

 

“You okay, Caleb?” she asks.

 

“Little under the weather,” Caleb admits, leaning back onto the grass. It is true that he’s been feeling weak all day today, and it’s easier to blame frailty of the body than frailty of the mind.

 

“No rest for the wicked,” Astrid reminds him. “Don’t think I won’t tell Ikithon that you’re behind on your work next. I’m fickle like that.” She winks at him, trying to smooth over her words as a joke between friends. Judging by how easily she threw Eodwulf under the bus, however, Caleb doesn’t trust Astrid as far as he could throw her. Blumenthal is many miles away and Caleb is no longer a teenager with his first crush. Astrid can’t play that game with him anymore.

 

And besides, Caleb doesn’t need reminding.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb tries to get out of bed—he really does try—but somewhere between the edge of his mattress and the bathroom he hits the floor and doesn’t get up. Every part of his body aches and there’s a sheen of sweat all over his skin.

 

“Don’t you have class?” Molly asks from the kitchen. “You’re usually out of here by now.” Caleb just groans, face down on carpeting that has seen better days. He hears a few loud footsteps coming towards him and then a tutting sound. “Oh, Caleb. I don’t think you’re going anywhere today.”

 

Molly types out an apology email to Nott on Caleb’s ancient laptop (it’s what he can afford) while Caleb shivers in bed. “And sent,” Molly says, shutting the computer and tossing it onto the comforter. “I made you some herbal tea.” He points towards the mug on Caleb’s nightstand.

 

“Th-thank you,” Caleb stutters through chattering teeth. Molly frowns and tucks the blankets around Caleb tighter.

 

“You really should go to health services,” Molly sighs. “I have to get to class. Yasha’s waiting for me outside.”

 

“I’ll sleep it off,” Caleb huffs out.

 

“Text me if you’re dying,” Molly calls out as he leaves Caleb’s bedroom. Somewhere in between Molly closing his door and Caleb reaching for the tea on his desk, Caleb passes out.

 

When he wakes up, the light is different in his room. It must be around mid-afternoon from what Caleb can surmise. His phone buzzes gently from where Molly must have plugged it in. Caleb grabs it.

 

**Fjord [11:55am]: Never miss class again, Nott was a terror**

 

Caleb manages to type out a quick reply.

 

**Caleb Widogast [11:59am]: sorry**

 

The answering text comes quickly.

 

**Fjord [12:01pm]: You okay?**

 

**Caleb Widogast [12:04pm]: pretty sick. flu maybe**

 

Caleb had heard about a nasty bug going around campus, but he’s never gotten truly ill at school before and figured that this flu would pass him by. It probably serves him right for not getting his flu shot. And for walking home in the rain the past few nights from the library.

 

He checks his email briefly to find a message from Ikithon that he can’t bring himself to open. Instead, Caleb puts his phone down until Fjord’s text causes it to buzz again.

 

**Fjord [12:07pm]: what’s your address? I’m omw**

 

Part of Caleb wants to tell Fjord no, that he doesn’t need to be taken care of. Another, softer part of Caleb goes a little weak at the thought of Fjord traipsing across campus just to check in on him. So he sends Fjord his information before throwing his phone into his blankets and passing out once more.

 

Caleb comes back to himself when he hears a loud series of knocks on the front door. “Caleb?” Fjord’s voice rings out. Caleb groans and manages to roll himself out of bed, stumbling from hard surface to hard surface until he reaches the welcome mat. Fjord’s face drops when he sees Caleb. “Jesus Christ, Caleb. You look like shit.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Caleb hisses. He turns to let Fjord inside but the room spins dizzily and Caleb throws his hand out to steady himself. He ends up grabbing onto Fjord’s chest.

 

“You need to go the ER,” Fjord suggests, steadying Caleb with two strong hands.

 

“I really can’t afford that,” Caleb admits.

 

Fjord makes a noise of disapproval before pulling Caleb onto his shoulder. He slips a steady hand around Caleb’s waist and drags him out the door. “We’re going. I’ll pay.”

 

Caleb is manhandled into the passenger seat of Fjord’s sedan. Time feels strange to Caleb—he blinks and he’s suddenly in a white and blue emergency room, sitting on the edge of a bed while a doctor takes his blood pressure.

 

“Alright,” the nice woman holding him upright says with a sigh as Caleb lies back down. “You’re pretty dehydrated, so—we’re going to hang a few bags of fluid so that you can stand up straight. You don’t have to be admitted, but you do have to pick up the prescription I’m putting into the school’s pharmacy within the next twelve hours. Sound good?”

 

Caleb nods and goes to sleep.

 

He wakes up to Fjord at his bedside. “Hey,” Caleb croaks out. He clears his throat with a few sharp coughs.

 

“I didn’t know who your emergency contact was,” Fjord explains, and it’s only then that Caleb realizes that Fjord is holding out a clipboard that was clearly meant for Caleb. “So I just put myself down for now.”

 

Caleb doesn’t have the strength to get into why his emergency contact is Dr. Nott, so he just nods weakly. “Thank you.”

 

“I got your medicine,” Fjord says suddenly, diving into his backpack and pulling out a small package.

 

“Fjord,” Caleb says quietly. “How much do I owe you?”

 

“Come on, Caleb,” Fjord says with a shrug.

 

“You don’t have to pay for this,” Caleb says, sitting up on the stretcher. The room doesn’t spin, and Caleb takes that as a good sign.

 

“No, I made a promise.” The look on Fjord’s face looks resolute, and Caleb just doesn’t have the energy to fight him on this. Caleb sinks back into the stretcher and curls onto his side so that he can stare at Fjord, who is looking down at him fondly. “Let me do this for you.”

 

“Why?” Caleb asks.

 

“Because I can,” Fjord shrugs.

 

It’s not answer enough. “Why?” Caleb repeats.

 

Fjord drags a chair next to Caleb’s bed and takes his hand. He’s warm to the touch, and when he squeezes Caleb’s fingers, Caleb feels grounded. “Because I want to. So just let me.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb recovers quickly, as young people often do. His classwork gets put on hold while, over the course of the next few days, his body remembers what it’s like to be human. He spends a sorry weekend in bed until Molly physically forces him into the shower.

 

“Some cleanliness never hurt anyone,” Molly shouts at him through the shower door while Caleb groans against the ceramic tile. He feels a little like a cat avoiding a bath. “Much.”

 

Mostly, Caleb hates how Molly is right. By the time he emerges from the shower, he does feel a lot better. Caleb finds that Molly has changed his bedsheets while he showered, which is a kind of gentle, unexpected kindness Molly is known for. Caleb quickly starts sorting through his emails from Nott while Frumpkin curls up in his lap. Caleb considers opening the two emails from Ikithon quickly, like tearing off a bandaid, but decides against it. Ultimately, Caleb should probably meet with Ikithon and pray that it might be harder to deny him mercy in person.

 

Caleb is feeling much more like himself when Fjord drops by to stock him up on Gatorade.

 

“Doctor’s orders,” Fjord explains, pushing past Caleb and into the foyer. “Where should I leave these?”

 

When Molly spots Fjord sorting the Gatorades onto various refrigerator shelves, he drags Caleb into the bathroom for a quick chat.

 

“Good news: I’ve stopped feeling bad about abandoning you in your time of need. Look at _that_. Where did you find him? I need one.” Molly’s words come out fairly rapid-fire and it takes Caleb a second to register exactly what Molly is insinuating.

 

“Fjord is one of the students in the class I TA for Nott,” Caleb explains in a low voice. “He’s also a friend.”

 

“A _friend_ ,” Molly hums under his breath. “Well, that’s a pity. He looks like he could fuck some of your anxiety away, if nothing else.”

 

“ _Molly_ ,” Caleb hisses.

 

“I’m just saying, he has a big dick energy—and you know how I believe in that sort of thing,” Molly says with a shrug.

 

“He paid for my hospital bills,” Caleb admits. “And my lunch.”

 

“Big spender,” Molly hums under his breath. “Is he trying to impress you?”

 

“Caleb?” Fjord calls from the kitchen. “Where’d you go?”

 

Caleb pushes past Molly and finds Fjord, who is sitting on the marble counter of the kitchen island looking pleased with himself. “You look good,” he tells Caleb, who flushes immediately. Fjord seems to catch his misstep. “I mean, you look better than you did. When you were sick.”

 

Molly coughs obviously behind Caleb.

 

“Can I talk to you?” Caleb asks through gritted teeth. He pulls Fjord by the front of his shirt off the counter and nearly drags him into his bedroom.

 

“I’ll see you two later,” Molly calls out with a cackle, grabbing Frumpkin by the scruff of his furry neck when the cat tries to dart in after Caleb. Caleb closes the door and turns to face Fjord, who seems captivated by Caleb’s bookshelf.

 

“You have so many old books,” Fjord marvels, running his fingers along the spines of a few of Caleb’s more sentimental volumes.

 

“Some of the books are family heirlooms,” Caleb nods, tugging Fjord’s hand off a particularly delicate volume. “But yes, I do like to read.” Caleb doesn’t realize that he’s still holding Fjord’s hand until Fjord clears his throat gently.

 

“Caleb?” he asks, his voice soft.

 

“I don’t need someone to take care of me,” Caleb blurts out.

 

Fjord crosses his arms over his chest. “I know you don’t.”

 

“I’m an adult. I can take care of myself,” Caleb continues, and he starts to pace in front of Fjord. He’s been taking care of himself since his parents' accident. Caleb may only be twenty-one years old, but he knows what it means to get on on your own. Whatever pitying thing Fjord thinks he’s doing—Caleb has had enough of it. “I get this enough from Nott.”

 

“Can’t I just be nice to you?” Fjord asks plainly.

 

“No!” Caleb nearly shouts, and Fjord has to bite back a laugh. “Because people like you aren’t nice to people like me for no reason. So what do you want? A better grade? Less homework?” At each accusation, Fjord’s gaze becomes murkier. And if this is what drives him away, well—then maybe Caleb doesn’t have to guess about what’s keeping Fjord around any longer.

 

“Is that really what you think of me?” Fjord finally asks. His words are rough with anger and confusion, but the look on Fjord’s face is what kills Caleb the most. Part of Caleb wants to take everything back, to recork his diatribe and forget it. Maybe they could go back to whatever tenuous _status quo_ the two of them were dancing around. But Caleb never learned what it was like to have something come easily. He’s had to struggle: between keeping his scholarship and Ikithon’s tutelage, Caleb is at his wits end. Caleb’s friendship with Fjord—it’s too good to be true, Caleb decides. _Fjord_ is too good to be true. There has to be some kind of secondary gain here. No one is that nice for no reason.

 

"I swear, the anticipation of finding out just _why_ you’re doing all this—it’s excruciating.” Caleb crosses his own arms over his chest, mostly to hold himself. He finds it steadying.

 

Fjord takes a few steps forward, entering Caleb’s personal space. For a brief moment, Caleb isn’t certain if Fjord is going to hug him or slap him. He does neither.

 

“What do you want, Fjord?” Caleb finally asks.

 

“ _What do_ I _want_ ,” Fjord repeats, but this time it’s not a question. “Christ, Caleb. For the smartest person I know, you’re real fucking stupid sometimes.” In an instant, Fjord has Caleb by the front of his shirt—two fists of frustration tightly twining the fabric. Caleb can feel the strength of Fjord in the hesitation.

 

“Are you going to hit me?” Caleb asks quietly. Caleb hasn’t been hit in a long time, and if that is where this encounter is going, Caleb needs to gather his bearings.

 

Fjord hisses through his teeth in frustration. “No, _God—_ Caleb. What the fuck? I’m not gonna do that.” His voice gets a little quieter. “I’d never do that.” A flash of anger crosses his face. “Who did that to you?”

 

“Forget it,” Caleb murmurs, putting his hands on top of Fjord’s. It’s an old story, one he doesn’t like retelling. Caleb doesn’t pull Fjord off his shirt, just runs his thumb across Fjord’s knuckles. It’s a bit like licking the edge of a knife. “Talk to me.”

 

“I’d really like to kiss you,” Fjord blurts out, words rolling off his tongue ungently. He gets a little flustered and pauses, swallowing for a brief moment before continuing on. “So, there’s that.”

 

 _No one is that nice for no reason._ Caleb was right about that part, ultimately. Just wrong about everything else.

 

“Excuse me?” Caleb asks. He’s stalling and he knows he’s stalling. Still, Caleb can’t help but narrow in on Fjord’s mouth and the scar that cuts across his upper lip. It’s a good mouth. It has character.

 

“Caleb,” Fjord says calmly. “I asked you to take naked photos of me.” It sounds ridiculous _now_ , but at the time—Caleb was doing a _favor_ —

 

“As a friend,” Caleb says slowly. “You know. Taking naked photos as a supportive, normal friend.”

 

Fjord just looks at Caleb, his glare reading a gentle but firm _please listen to the words you just spoke out loud._

 

“Okay, that’s fair,” Caleb concedes.

 

“And, so you know, I took AP Chemistry in high school,” Fjord admits. “I’m just taking Nott’s class as a gut.”

 

“What?” Caleb asks smartly.

 

“Beau really did need the help,” Fjord nods, nudging himself closer. He is warm and broad-shouldered, hands still woven into the folds of Caleb’s shirt front. “And I wanted to see you more.”

 

“Well,” Caleb says quietly. “You do see me.”

 

“More,” Fjord repeats. His eyes are a strange, warm, golden hue, hooded by thick lashes Caleb thinks Astrid would be rather jealous of. It’s probably not the best reason to kiss Fjord, but Caleb has done things for worse reasons before.

 

So he kisses Fjord.

 

Doesn’t make it right. Doesn’t make it wrong, either. Maybe it just is. Fjord makes a pleasant enough noise under Caleb’s lips, and Caleb stops thinking about motivation.

 

Turning his brain off isn’t that simple, though.

 

It’s been a long time since Caleb has been intimate with someone, and the sensation is not like getting back on a bicycle. There is an awkwardness to sex that Caleb had blissfully glossed over and forgotten in the intervening years between his rare encounters. He’s not sure where or when to touch Fjord, how much pressure is too much or not enough. Caleb thinks every caress through twice before he acts.

 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Fjord finally murmurs. The two of them have made it into Caleb’s bed, and the wide swath of skin that is Fjord’s chest has been laid bare. “You’d tell me if—what I mean is—you’re not seeing someone else, right?”

 

Caleb’s heart melts a little at the insecurity in Fjord’s voice. He takes a hand and for once, doesn’t second guess himself, cupping Fjord’s jaw gently. “I’m seeing you,” Caleb tells him, leaning down to kiss Fjord’s turned down mouth.

 

It’s the truth but it’s not the whole truth. He thinks bitterly that Astrid has always made him feel this way: like he’s still got one foot back in Blumenthal, digging down deep in the red soil there. Caleb kisses Fjord and tries not to think of the black curtain of Astrid’s hair. It’s not fair to Fjord, Caleb knows this—it’s not fair to anyone at all.

 

Fjord slips a hand down beneath the hem of Caleb’s pants. When Caleb jerks away, Fjord pauses. “You okay?” Fjord asks.

 

Caleb sees red for a moment. This whole _air of concern_ thing is making Caleb sick. He’s fully tired of Fjord trying to handle him like he needs someone to take care of him. His parents have been dead for five years now. He’s been taking care of himself for a long while.

 

Fjord must see the anger in Caleb’s expression as he smooths his thumb against the skin of Caleb’s hip—like he’s calming some kind of wild animal.

 

Caleb’s throat feels tight. He’s not sure if he can properly explain the heaviness in his heart. “Do you ever feel like you’re drowning on dry land?”

 

It’s a stupid metaphor, but there has been a weight on Caleb’s shoulders since his parents died—to be something, to be _someone_. Soltryce is far from Blumenthal, but Caleb thinks that he’ll never escape that place. In all likelihood, he’ll end up back home, tail between his legs. That or Ikithon will bury him here before he graduates. There are days when every step feels like walking in quicksand: the more he tries to get out, the more he sinks down deeper. Astrid’s talking about progress on her thesis and Caleb is just trying to keep his head above water.

 

Fjord’s mirthless laugh brings Caleb back to the present. He slips out of Caleb’s grasp and lies back on the mattress. “You can just say you don’t want to have sex, Caleb.”

 

But that’s not what Caleb means.

 

Caleb crawls over the bed and swings a leg over Fjord’s hips to straddle him. Fjord is looking up at Caleb with wide eyes darkened by blown pupils and a complicated expression. “Forget it,” Caleb says sharply, and he grinds his hips down against Fjord’s roughly. Fjord doesn’t want to get into Caleb’s messy past, and that’s fine. It’s likely better this way—better to fuck his worries away. Isn’t that what normal people do, anyway?

 

“Caleb,” Fjord murmurs, a half-hearted sigh of hesitation against his lips. His arms wrap around Caleb tightly, bringing them chest to chest. Caleb can feel the hard length of Fjord against the low flatness of his belly.

 

Caleb threads his fingers into Fjord’s hair and pulls his head back in a less than gentle tug. Fjord lets out a whimper that Caleb won’t easily erase from his memory. “I said forget it,” Caleb repeats in a near snarl. Fjord’s mouth is open and panting now—his tongue wet, pink, and teasing at the edge of his lips. This time when Caleb kisses Fjord, he doesn’t think of Astrid. He doesn’t think of anyone at all. The only things in Caleb’s head are the way Fjord’s fingernails feel as the cut down his spine, the sound of Frumpkin pawing at the closed bedroom door from the outside hallway, and the smell of chlorine that seems to permeate every item of clothing that Fjord owns.

 

Caleb isn’t sure what exactly comes over him, but he likes the way Fjord reacts to a little bit of manhandling. There’s something powerful about the quiet keen in the back of Fjord’s throat when Caleb grasps him by the neck. “You like this?” Caleb confirms, his fingers sitting on the fat pulse that sits in the crook of Fjord’s neck. It beats hard against his touch.

 

“Yes,” Fjord hisses out. “Yes, please. I—I _want_ —”

 

“Tell me,” Caleb says, and this time when he speaks it’s a command.

 

Fjord’s eyelids flutter prettily. “Give me your fingers,” he begs, cheeks flushing red as Caleb registers the request. Fjord’s mouth is red and inviting. It’s so easy to flip a slim finger between Fjord’s lips and into the hot, slick heat beyond. Fjord’s tongue swirls around Caleb like waves lapping at the shore.

 

“God, you feel so good,” Caleb groans. He dares to delve another finger inside Fjord’s inviting mouth. Fjord gags a little as the pads of Caleb’s fingertips dive deeper and Caleb starts to pull back. In a moment that is lightning fast, Fjord has Caleb’s hand in a vice grip, keeping his fingers in place. Fjord looks at Caleb with a near-drunk expression, his hips bucking up against Caleb in desperate want. “That gets you off,” Caleb surmises, scissoring his fingers slightly. Fjord moans in reply.

 

Caleb feels so hard he can’t think straight. “There are other things you could choke on,” Caleb murmurs out loud. Fjord blinks up at him while Caleb drags his fingers out of Fjord’s mouth. He tugs at the edge of Fjord’s mouth, showing a long line of Fjord’s white teeth before slipping away entirely. A long line of saliva drags from the edge of Fjord’s lips to Caleb’s fingertips.

 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Fjord finally says, his voice hoarse and desperate.

 

Fjord sucks cock like he’s greedy for it. He laps at Caleb messily, spit and Caleb’s own leaking cock coating Fjord’s lips with a glossy shine. Caleb threads both hands into Fjord’s hair, scratching at his scalp with his fingernails. Fjord gulps him down easily. Caleb thinks distantly that perhaps Fjord has had a lot of practice. He tries not to think about who he might be practicing _with_ , and then Fjord takes him down to the hilt and Caleb loses his train of thought entirely.

 

“If you do that again, I’m not going to last,” Caleb admits after Fjord holds him at the back of his throat for a long minute. “ _Fuck_.”

 

Fjord drags himself off of Caleb long enough to say, “A for effort, Widogast.” Which is just foul play, because now all Caleb can think about is Fjord blowing him in the lecture hall, or Fjord fucking him against the desk he uses for office hours—

 

"Shit," Caleb whines, hips bucking erratically against Fjord's lips. He sees white as he comes, fingers threaded into Fjord's hair, tugging him down onto his cock. Fjord chokes on him for the briefest of moments before swallowing Caleb down eagerly. When Caleb comes back to earth, Fjord is staring up at him like the cat who caught the canary. “Don't look so fucking smug,” Caleb mumbles, wiping at Fjord's lip with his thumb.

 

“It’s not often you get to bed the TA,” Fjord grins wolfishly. Oversensitive and aching, Caleb feels a strange weight settles in the pit of his stomach—and then Fjord is pressing Caleb back against the bed. Caleb presses whatever hesitation lingers in the back of his head to the back of his mind.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Not that I don’t encourage this heartily,” Molly say blithely when Caleb briefly leaves his bedroom for water and cold fridge pizza, “but you two should see the sun at some point. Breathe some fresh air. Maybe even have some park sex.”

 

Caleb flips Molly off. “I’ve never been much of an outside boy.”

 

“Your phone buzzed,” Fjord mumbles when Caleb quietly walks back into the room. It’s two—maybe three days, it’s hard to keep track—after Fjord and Caleb’s first encounter. Since then they’ve barely left Caleb’s apartment. The whole place stinks of them: of sweat and sex and dirty clothes _._ Caleb can’t remember the last time he checked his email, which in itself sends a shiver of horror down his spine.

 

**Astrid [9:07am]: Where the fuck are you**

 

“Thanks,” Caleb says quietly, grabbing the phone and turning the screen off before he can fully read the notification on it. For now, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. He doesn’t need to think about whatever Astrid wants right now. “You hungry?” he asks, holding out a half-eaten piece of pizza.

 

“Yeah,” Fjord nods, pushing the pizza away and pulling Caleb in for a kiss.

 

“This feels unsustainable,” Caleb moans as Fjord dips his hands down beneath the band of Caleb’s boxers, finger slippery with lube.

 

“Wanna stop?” Fjord asks, dipping his index finger further against Caleb’s ass.

 

“Not really,” Caleb mutters, arching his back for better access.

 

Fjord is large in the general sense of the word, but his dick? Caleb could write _sonnets_ about that thing. Not that Caleb has had a tremendous amount of sex before, but Caleb is certain that Fjord is impressive even for those who are well-versed. It takes a few long minutes of adjusting each time Fjord fucks him. For his part, Fjord is patient as can be as Caleb tries to relax around him, painting patterns along the skin between Caleb’s shoulder blades with his fingertips.

 

“You good?” Fjord asks.

 

“Okay,” Caleb grits out. He’s not fully comfortable yet but he’s certain he’ll get there.

 

“Very convincing,” Fjord hums under his breath. Fjord presses Caleb’s shoulders down so that he buckles on the mattress down to his elbows before shifting his leg and—

 

“ _Oh, fuck_ ,” Caleb whines, shoving his face into the dirty sheets. This whole bedrooms reeks of them but he can’t bring himself to care beyond the shattering ecstasy that rockets through his body like an electric shock. He rocks his hips back against Fjord, eager for more of that near sickly sweet pressure. “Please, _please_ ,” he begs.

 

“More like it,” Fjord murmurs before he starts to move.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You look like someone hit you over the head with a hammer,” Caleb hears Beau laugh at Fjord. “The dick can’t be that good.” Caleb turns bright red and slides down in his chair at the back of the auditorium. He smiles to himself all the same when Fjord punches Beau in the arm.

 

Strangely, even while Caleb and Fjord lived in their den of sex and debauchery, the world continued on. Classes continued to be held. Papers were turned in. Intramural sports raged on.

 

Fjord murmurs something to Beau and her eyebrows go straight up. “Damn. Maybe it is that good,” she laughs, shooting a look over at Caleb. Something buzzes on the shared desk between them and Beau snatches Fjord’s phone with lightning-fast reflexes. “Okay, come on. I think it’s time to say goodbye to your sugar daddy.”

 

Caleb stops eavesdropping at that point. It’s not like he and Fjord have talked about Fjord’s mysterious patron in the intervening days they spent in bed together. Caleb doesn’t mind if Fjord continues to entertain the guy—as long as that’s what Fjord wants to do.

 

Nott hands out a new problem set at the end of class and a barrage of students ask Caleb about supplemental instruction this week. He has half a mind to take the week off and spend the time in bed with Fjord, and judging by the look on Fjord’s face, the feeling is mutual. “I’ll post something to Blackboard,” Caleb finally says vaguely. JB, who looks a little disappointed, takes her packet and leaves.

 

“Do you wanna—” Fjord starts, his voice low and honey sweet, but something catches Caleb’s eye in the doorway of the auditorium. A girl with black hair.

 

Caleb thinks of the text from Astrid that he deleted a few days ago and winces internally. “Shit,” he mutters, pushing past Beau and Fjord.

 

“Where the fuck have you been?” Astrid hisses, pulling him into a side corridor by the front of his knit sweater. Caleb stumbles a little. Astrid’s eyes move from his face to his neck where Caleb knows an obvious bruise has formed. He adjusts his scarf a little, but Astrid has already seen what she needs to confirm her suspicions. “I’m guessing you have better things to do than an honors thesis.” Astrid shrugs, taking a step back from Caleb, her face stony and ashen in complexion.

 

“What, are you _jealous_ _?_ ” Caleb bites back. It’s a weak argument, but it’s all he has at the moment.

 

Astrid laughs hard. “I don’t think I’m the one you should be worrying about. When’s the last time you checked your email?”

 

Caleb’s phone seems to burn in his pocket. It’s been a week now. He’s usually on top of his work, especially since Ikithon likes to communicate mostly online, but Caleb has a sinking feeling that a terrible horror is lying in wait in his inbox. He just can’t bring himself to check.

 

“And to think I tried to _help you_ ,” Astrid sneers, but her eyes are reflective with—tears? More likely born from frustration than any kind of grief for him. “Just look. It’ll be like ripping off a bandaid. It’s how I’d want to find out.”

 

Caleb’s stomach feels like it’s fallen to his knees. “Find out?”

 

“You didn’t turn in your draft, Caleb. Or has someone fucked your head up so royally that you forgot that you actually had a fucking job to do?” Astrid wipes at her face furiously. “You’re done with him. Or more accurately, Ikithon is done with you.”

 

“What?” Caleb asks quietly.

 

He pulls out his phone at long last, the sounds of the world around him quieting. At least three emails from Ikithon, all marked as _urgent_. The last subject line reads **HIST501: Thesis - FAILURE**.

 

“I was sick,” Caleb starts. “And then—” And then he and Fjord had gotten together. And Caleb couldn’t bring himself to look at his emails, the dread of knowing that he was ignoring his responsibilities too heavy on his conscience.

 

“You know how strict he is,” Astrid intones. “I tried texting you. What do you want me to say?”

 

“I want you to say that you _did something_ ,” Caleb hisses, adrenaline now coursing through his system hard and fast. “Say that you fought for me.” Astrid remains quiet. “But you wouldn’t. I know you too well for that.”

 

“Oh, fuck you,” Astrid hisses. "This isn't my fault."

 

“If I’m the fuck up, what does that make you? Ikithon’s best beloved? I’m sure you love that,” Caleb attempts to sneer, but his fear peeks through when his voice wavers. It’s an unfair conversation and Caleb knows it. They’re both so screwed up from this terror of a mentor. They can’t fight Ikithon, though, so instead they’ll tear each other to pieces in effigy.

 

“ _You’re_ the one who messed up,” Astrid barks. “Don’t put this on me.”

 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Astrid,” Caleb mutters. He looks up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. She’s right, of course. It _is_ his fault. The last two weeks were a series of mistakes that Caleb cannot reconcile in the face of Trent Ikithon or the scholarship committee. Caleb’s not sure what happens next, but the bile in the back of his throat coats his tongue all the same.

 

“You know I loved you?” It’s Caleb’s last trump card, the final piece of the Astrid puzzle he can try to fit into place. Maybe a part of him with always love her. The sound of someone stumbling behind him rings out in the mostly empty hallway, but Caleb doesn’t turn around. He's not sure why he tells her. Perhaps he just wants to see another chink in her armor fall away. He wants to see her as weak as he feels.

 

“I know,” Astrid says with a simple nod.

 

Caleb freezes. _What?_  “You knew?”

 

Astrid rolls her eyes. “Of course I knew. You were obvious.” She is quiet for a long, awkward moment. “He wants to see you.” Caleb knows exactly who she’s talking about.

 

He’s failed his honor’s thesis. Which means— _which means_ —

 

“Fine,” Caleb says hollowly.

 

“I’m sorry—” Astrid tries.

 

“You’re not,” Caleb says, waving her apology away like a bad smell. “But it’s also not on you.”

 

Astrid’s face melts from feigned apology to moment of true emotion: pity and fondness, or whatever affection Astrid is capable of. “It’s survival of the fittest, Widogast. You should know that by now.”

 

“To you, maybe.” Caleb slips his phone into his pocket.

 

“To everyone. Didn’t we learn about natural selection in freshman biology?” The hint of a predatory smile plays on Astrid’s lips. Caleb can’t look away, even as Astrid treads closer and closer.

 

Astrid kisses him like she’s doing him a favour. She tastes like ash on his tongue.

 

“Don’t kiss me again,” Caleb tells her when they break apart. He’s surprised to find that he means it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb’s meeting with Ikithon goes about as well as he expected it to go.

 

Soltryce has a scholarship specifically helmed by the history department. The purse strings are tied by Ikithon himself. Ikithon had recruited the three of them—Caleb, Astrid, and Eodwulf—after they had excelled in their high school exams. No one from Blumenthal could afford to go to Soltryce, but Ikithon had made them a promise: do right by him and they would get their degrees. If Caleb’s parents had still been alive, maybe they would have told him not to sign his life away. But by the time he was thinking about college, it was just Caleb and Eodwulf and Astrid against the world. Where they went, he would go.

 

Failing a class meant the scholarship would be rescinded.

 

“Always read the fine print,” Caleb mutters to himself. It’s something his father often said when he was alive. He was convinced that the world was out to get the Widogasts something fierce.

 

The wind whips at Caleb on the roof of the Soltryce University library. It’s a beautiful view this time of year, just before Thanksgiving. The foliage on campus gleams orange and gold in the crisp fall air. Caleb wishes he could appreciate this place for more than the hell hole it is at its core.

 

Without the scholarship, he can’t afford to be here. He won’t graduate. It will be three years lost. Plus the tuition from this semester—he won’t be able to pay that back for _years_ —

 

Caleb leans his forehead against the guard railing. His vision blurs as tears fill his view. Whatever fairness he expected from this life, Caleb has at least learned one thing from college: that there is no such thing as _fair_. Fairness is just something you pretend to believe in so that the true savagery of the world doesn’t scare you straight shitless.

 

He leans hard into the railing, head dipping down and hanging. The blood rushes into Caleb’s head, and he wonders how far he can hang without falling—

 

“Caleb?” Caleb jerks back from the railing immediately, startled by the voice behind him. He turns on his heel and sees—Beau.

 

It’s not who he expected.

 

“Hey,” Caleb says, wiping his face harshly with both hands. “Sorry.”

 

Beau makes an incredulous noise as she settles next to him, leaning her elbows on the guard rail. “Don’t really see why you’re apologizing, but I’ll take it.” Beau leans against him, and she is hard and warm against his shoulder. “There are a lot of people looking for you right now. Me. Fjord. Your weird as fuck roommate—Molly?”

 

Caleb threw his phone in the trash after his meeting with Ikithon, so whoever attempted to call him in the intervening hours has probably had a tough time of it. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone. I just—I just wanted to be alone.”

 

Beau nods. “I get that.” She doesn’t ask Caleb if he was going to jump. It’s a kindness Caleb doesn’t expect from her. “You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

 

Caleb looks away.

 

“My parents disinherited me,” she offers into the quiet.

 

Caleb turns and looks at Beau. “What?”

 

“Yeah. Turns out I’m not their ideal daughter,” Beau shrugs. It’s not the whole story, but it’s certainly not something Caleb ever heard from Fjord about her. Maybe he doesn’t know yet. Regardless, it’s a hefty admission.

 

“My parents are dead,” Caleb offers. It’s been a long time since he’s said that sentence out loud.

 

Beau shrugs. “I figured. You don’t talk about family much.” She’s quiet again, simply leaning into Caleb and forcing him to stand up a little straighter.

 

Caleb clears his throat. “I’m here on scholarship. My thesis mentor—”

 

“Ikithon? Seems like a tool.”

 

Caleb laughs, hard. It’s one of the first times someone has actually seen Ikithon for what he is. “You’re not wrong. He’s going to fail me in my honors thesis class.” Caleb gulps, his eyes watering of their own volition. “My scholarship is getting taken away. I’m—I’m not going to graduate. And the _debt_ —” His voice breaks off. Saying it out loud makes it real.

 

Caleb’s knees start to buckle, and Beau easily threads an arm under Caleb’s as he sinks down into a squat.

 

“Shit,” Beau appreciates.

 

“Shit,” Caleb says, voice catching in his windpipe, “is right.”

 

The two of them stand there at the top of the library for a long minute.

 

“You know, I thought I was going to be someone, someday,” Caleb says bitterly, tears running down his face. “That’s not in the cards anymore.”

 

“I get what you’re saying,” Beau says quietly. “But you’re someone now.” She squeezes his arm after a long, pitiful minute. “So stand the fuck up.”

 

Caleb looks at Beau hard. It's been a long time since someone has spoken to him so plainly. But perhaps it’s the kick in the pants Caleb needs. He rights himself with Beau’s help, wiping his face with his sweater sleeve. “Can I ask you why your parents disinherited you?”

 

Beau squeezes Caleb’s arm as a broad smile comes across her face. “Oh, you know. Got in a huge fight with them over what they wanted me to become. Turns out it kinda fucks you up when your dad wants a son so bad he names you Beauregard.”

 

“It’s nice to have parents to fight with,” Caleb hums beneath his breath. “But that is pretty shitty.”

 

“What happened to your family?” Beau asks.

 

Caleb laughs brokenly. “Don’t make me tell that story today. You’ll get it, I promise. Just not today.” His fault lines are nearly broken open. There’s no way he can delve into how a careless cigarette set his farm house ablaze. But in this moment, Beau has earned the story. She’ll hear about it soon enough.

 

"We'll put a pin in it." Beau leans against him. “So let’s go figure this shit out.”

 

Caleb nods. “I’ve got to go pack my stuff. I won’t ask you to help me move out, but—”

 

“Caleb, shut up. You’re not moving out.” When Caleb doesn’t move, Beau tugs him back towards the door. “Step one: we leave the library. Step two: we talk to some people.” When Caleb continues to look at Beau like she’s grown a second head, Beau smiles knowingly. “I know how much this is going to suck. You’re used to doing everything on your own. I get that. But now? It’s time to ask for help.” She winks at him. “I’m the cavalry, baby.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hail the conquering heroes,” Beau calls out as she pushes Caleb through the front door of his apartment. Together, the two of them had hit the registrar, financial aid, and Professor Nott’s office before dinner.

 

“Hail.” The voice comes from the large woman on the couch who Caleb knows as Yasha. She salutes the two of them. Caleb is pretty certain that her bicep is larger than his thigh.

 

Beau practically chokes. “Hail-o to you too,” she stutters, releasing Caleb from her vice grip and settling down on the couch next to Yasha. “You’re, uh. Big.”

 

“Yes,” Yasha nods.

 

“Awesome,” Beau beams. “Are you single?”

 

“Hey, sweetheart,” someone behind Caleb sighs heavily. It’s Molly, and Caleb allows him to press a kiss to his forehead before pulling away. “You okay?”

 

Caleb looks between Beau and Molly. “Getting through it. Maybe.”

 

“We’ll take maybe,” Molly nods. His eyes flick to the screen door. “Your boy is in the backyard.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb can smell the bonfire before he sees it. “Bit warm for it,” Fjord mutters, stoking the flames with a long stick before tossing it in as well. “But I figured I had shit to burn.” The embers of a notebook smolder in the flames. He looks over his shoulder at Caleb with an unreadable expression. “Molly said it was okay.”

 

“It is okay,” Caleb confirms, taking his place in the grass next to Fjord. “I’ve always liked fire.”

 

Caleb holds his hand out to the flames and hopes that Fjord doesn’t notices how his fingers tremble.

 

“Are you—” Fjord starts, his voice choking off into a silence interrupting only by the crackling of the bonfire. “I was worried about you.”

 

Caleb hisses, moving the air between his teeth ruefully. “I was worried about me, too. Honestly, still a little worried about me.” He clenches his first before retracting his arm and turning to Fjord. “But I might be okay.”

 

“Yeah?” Fjord asks. He’s still staring at the fire.

 

“Yeah,” Caleb nods. “It’s been a while since I’ve had that kind of attitude.”

 

Fjord laughs a little under his breath, a low chuckle that makes Caleb face warm far more than the bonfire. “Beau has that effect on people.”

 

“She does,” Caleb says. He steps closer to Fjord and takes his hand, threading his fingers as best he can. Fjord doesn’t squeeze back. “But it’s not just her.”

 

“I know,” Fjord starts, clearing his throat a little shakily, “that we didn’t talk about exclusivity. But if you could just let me know who she is, I’d really appreciate it.”

 

Fjord slips his hand out of Caleb’s grasp as Caleb’s stomach falls to his knees.

 

“Obviously, it’s fine,” Fjord mutters. “I just thought that for once, I didn’t have to come in second best.”

 

“Fjord,” Caleb starts. “It’s not—she’s not what you think.” Even the words sound stale on his tongue. It’s hard to say that Astrid means nothing to him. For a long time, she was everything.

 

“I saw you kiss her,” Fjord tells him frankly, and he takes another step back. “But more importantly, I saw the way you are around her. The way you look at her.” Fjord crosses his arms over his chest like a shield, hoping to deflect any more damage. Caleb doesn’t blame him. “You’re someone else around her.” He’s not wrong.

 

“Not someone I particularly like,” Caleb mutters. But there’s nothing to say. Fjord has always had a keen eye. So Caleb turns his heart to granite, a hard cliff-side to face the oncoming storm. “And what was I supposed to think about your fucking _benefactor?_ ”

 

“That is different,” Fjord spits, “and we both know it.”

 

“Here’s how it’s the same,” Caleb barks back, stalking towards Fjord with a finger pointed. “We’ll never have all of each other.” Fjord turns his head away and picks at the corner of his eye with a finger, expression glassy. “So we’ll call it, yeah? Chalk it up to a few nice days in bed.”

 

Fjord takes a deep breath. “Glad I could be of service,” he mutters.

 

“Hope you enjoyed fucking the TA,” Caleb spits. He’s meaner than he needs to be, but it’s better for the both of them in the long run if whatever this is ends here. At least, that’s what Caleb tells himself at the hurt expression that crosses Fjord’s face.

 

Fjord leaves quickly enough. When Caleb comes inside, Frumpkin hisses at him before darting into the bathroom.

 

“Caleb,” Molly sighs. “You fucking fool.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You know, Caleb, if you had asked for help earlier, a lot of this could have been avoided,” Nott tells Caleb kindly. “The chemistry department has always had an obscene amount of scholarship money.”

 

“I didn’t want to take advantage of you,” Caleb murmurs, still amazed at his good fortune.

 

“ _Take advantage of me_ —Caleb, I’m forty-seven years old,” Nott barks. “And I’m helping you because you deserve it, not because I like you.” She winks at him benevolently. “So stop looking like someone ran over your cat with their car.”

 

It _is_ a huge relief to get the Darrington Scholarship. Nott pulled as many strings as she could manage and, through sheer force of personality, pushed Caleb’s case through to the right people. “You’ll TA for me over the spring and summer to make up the missing credits you need,” Nott explains. “You'll graduate—and you'll graduate debt free.”

 

Caleb wants to press his face into the solid wood of Nott’s impressive desk in sheer relief. He restrains himself, but barely.

 

Fjord and Caleb don’t talk for the rest of the semester. Caleb doesn’t know what he could say to make things less awkward, so he does what he knows best: avoids human interaction and sits on his feelings until he can forget what it was like to feel the warmth of Fjord against his back. It’s only three weeks until winter break, and beyond Fjord dropping problem sets on Caleb’s pile to grade, they manage to keep their relationship perfectly civil.

 

Molly knows better than to ask Caleb about it. Caleb does see more of Beau in the intervening weeks—her presence at his apartment since she started seeing Yasha has been nearly omnipresent—but their interactions avoid the elephant in the room. Usually.

 

“In my opinion, you’re both acting like dipshits,” Beau calls out as Caleb stalks to his room. She’s leaning across the couch with her head in Yasha’s lap, lounging in such a feline manner that Caleb would not be surprised if she started purring.

 

“I don’t know about Fjord, but that’s just my status quo, Beauregard,” Caleb mutters. He still owes her so much.

 

“It’s really not,” Beau sighs. Caleb locks eyes with her and remembers the top of the library. He’s certain she’s thinking of the same thing. There are some things that are so full of meaning that they’re hard to talk about out loud. “You’re okay now, right?” Beau’s voice has an edge of uncertainty to it that breaks Caleb’s heart.

 

“He’s _fine_ ,” Molly calls out, putting a strong hand on Caleb’s shoulder. Caleb just puts his hand on his chest without breaking eye contact with Beau before giving her a short nod. “He’s an idiot, but he’s fine.”

 

Eodwulf texts him a week later with some insider information on Ikithon’s imminent departure. It seems that between Caleb and Eodwulf’s revelations about Ikithon’s abuse as a thesis mentor, the man had been driven out of the department. With Professor Nott backing their case, Ikithon had elected to take a forced sabbatical.

 

 **Caleb Widogast [4:57pm]:** Thank you for coming forward, Eodwulf. It means a lot.

 

 **Eodwulf [4:59pm]:** Thanks for the thanks, but you know that I wasn’t the real nail in the coffin. And God knows she didn’t do that for me.

 

 _Astrid_.

 

 **Eodwulf [5:01pm]:** I guess the third accuser’s the charm.

 

The light outside Caleb’s apartment shifts as a light spattering of snow begins to fall to the ground. The sky is grey but the air is clear as the first snowflakes of winter begin to settle on the grassy lawn.

 

Caleb sends Astrid a simple **thank you** before deleting her contact information from his phone. He receives no reply.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The final for Nott’s chemistry class has a section of multiple choice at the front of the exam and a section for long answer at the back. It’s a good sampling of material from throughout the class. Caleb proctors the room while Nott darts back and forth between her office and the lab.

 

JB is the first one finished. With anything more than a fifty percent, she’ll get an A in the class. “You should be very proud of your work this semester,” Caleb tells her in a fond whisper when she hands her exam in.

 

JB beams down at him. “Thanks, Caleb. I think my cousin will be really proud.”

 

“I’m sure she will be,” Caleb nods. “But you should be proud of you, too.”

 

Beau turns in her exam with a giant doodle on the back of what Caleb presumes to be Professor Nott as some kind of goblin. “Astonishing work,” he mutters, covering the drawing quickly.

 

“Thought you’d appreciate that,” Beau grins. “No questions left blank this time, either.”

 

That Caleb does appreciate.

 

Fjord is the last person to turn his exam in. The auditorium is quiet as his footsteps echo down the stairs that cut across the leveled seating. Caleb tries not to stare. It’s been a while since he got a good look at Fjord: he seems leaner, sharper than before. Caleb wonders if he’s been training harder or just eating less.

 

“How did it go?” Caleb asks lamely as Fjord hands in the paper.

 

“It’s over,” Fjord shrugs. Caleb tries not to take his words like a knife to the chest. Fjord turns around before Caleb can get another word in edgewise.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Caleb grades about half the stack of final exams before his eyes start drooping.

 

“You know, you can finish those this weekend,” Nott tells him kindly. “They’re not going anywhere.”

 

Caleb yawns and nods. He’d wanted to just be done with them—be done with this shitshow of a semester, be done with whatever ties he has left to Fjord entirely—but his body is betraying him. _Curse this human frailty._

 

Nott looks like she wants to say something. She chews on the inside of her cheek and instead reaches into her pocket. “Jerky?” she offers, pulling out a long brown stick wrapped in bright plastic. Caleb’s stomach rumbles. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d gotten over the afternoon.

 

“I should probably get some real dinner,” Caleb says with a shake of his head, packing his bag with the stack of papers. “I’ll get these to you as soon as possible.”

 

“Caleb,” Nott calls out as Caleb is about to cross the threshold of her office. “Chin up, kiddo.”

 

Caleb tries a smile that comes out as a half-wobble. He’s trying.

 

The light frosting of snow that coats the ground is easy enough to navigate. It’s nothing like the torrential blizzards Caleb weathered in Blumenthal. He doesn’t even button his coat fully on his walk home from the chemistry building, choosing to take the long way around the quad on a whim.

 

Caleb doesn’t take notice of the two figures standing next to the marbled archway of the classics building until he’s too close to avoid them.

 

He recognizes Fjord’s voice first. “I’m real glad of your help these past few months, sir.”

 

Fjord has his back to the wall, broad shoulders pressed against the white stone slab behind him. The man in front of him is wearing a long, dark coat that falls to his knees. Caleb can’t see his face from this angle.

 

“Fjord,” the stranger murmurs, and his voice is low and deep enough to make Caleb shudder. “You’ve truly proven yourself.”

 

Caleb finds himself lingering. He doesn’t know why he stays—or if he does, it’s for reasons he doesn't want to acknowledge. He hides himself enough behind a tree so that he can continue to watch and listen through the branches.

 

The stranger reaches out to touch Fjord and Caleb feels his own hackles raise. Fjord leans into the touch for a moment, the stranger’s thumb lingering on his cheek before slipping down around his neck. “Did you call me here because you’re ready for more?” the man asks.

 

So Fjord summoned him to campus. Caleb’s stomach sinks to his knees.

 

Fjord tilts his chin up at the stranger, jawline sharp even in the low light of dusk. For a long, horrible moment, Caleb is certain the stranger is going to kiss Fjord. He’s surprised at how much he doesn’t want that to happen.

 

“I have something to give you,” Fjord tells him boldly.

 

The stranger lets out a low chuckle. “A gift for me? How...considerate.” His voice deepens with obvious want. “Show me.”

 

It’s like a living nightmare, Caleb decides. It’s like the part of Caleb’s brain fixated on the relationship between Fjord and his patron has come to life before his very eyes. Except this isn’t just his imagination—this is real and happening right now.

 

This is also Fjord’s choice. One that Caleb shouldn’t be spying on.

 

Fjord reaches down towards his pants.

 

Caleb stays. He’d rather watch this in person that imagine it for the rest of his life.

 

But instead of unzipping his fly, Fjord reaches into his wallet and pulls out a small card that Caleb recognizes. “I want you to take this back,” Fjord tells the stranger, pressing the credit card into his open hand and offering it forward. “I want—I _need_ this to be over.”

 

The hand drops away from Fjord’s neck. Caleb feels his own mouth drop open in shock.

 

“It’s time for me to make my own way,” Fjord says quietly, his voice no louder than the rustling of the wind around them.

 

The stranger slips the card into his coat. “You had so much potential.”

 

Fjord straightens up. “Still do,” he says tightly before darting out of his patron’s grasp and into the snowy night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 **Caleb Wigogast [1:49am]:** Can we talk?

 

 **Fjord [1:54am]:** I don’t know. Can we?

 

 **Caleb Widogast [1:56am]:** I’m walking over now

 

“ _Mrow_ ,” Frumpkin purrs. He’s sitting on Caleb’s unoccupied pillow, staring at Caleb from across the room.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Caleb scolds him. “I’m only going for a walk.” Frumpkin stomps on Caleb’s pillow in defiance of said walk. “Yes, it’s two in the morning. No, I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

 

Frumpkin hisses. Fair play, Caleb decides.

 

The walk to Fjord’s dorm is long enough to give Caleb pause. He’s not sure what exactly he wants to tell Fjord. He’s not even sure if he should admit what he saw that night between Fjord and his patron. Regardless, Caleb can’t leave things this way. It’s not fair to either of them.

 

Fjord is waiting outside. He has on a worn Soltryce sweatshirt that Caleb remembers well. His nose and cheeks are pink from the cold. He watches Caleb take the long walk up the road towards the dorm entrance. Caleb supposes that’s fair. He’s the one who wanted to talk, after all.

 

“No coat?” Caleb asks once he closes the distance.

 

“Didn’t think we’d be out here for too long,” Fjord shrugs.

 

“Oh,” Caleb says.

 

Fjord and Caleb stand there in silence for a long moment. “You got something to say, Widogast?” Fjord asks. “I still have packing to do.”

 

“When do you leave for Port Damali?” Caleb asks.

 

“Tomorrow morning,” Fjord shrugs. “Kind of can’t wait to get out of here.”

 

“Rough semester,” Caleb nods.

 

“The roughest,” Fjord admits.

 

“Hopefully not just because of me,” Caleb says in half-apology.

 

Fjord lets out a small huff of relief. “Not just because of you,” he agrees. “Enough to make _this_ ,” and Fjord gestures between the two of them, “hurt. But I figure that’ll go away. In stages.”

 

Caleb takes a step closer to Fjord. The air between them feels charged, like if Caleb were to reach out and touch Fjord, he’d get shocked. Regardless, Caleb reaches out and takes Fjord’s hand.

 

“Don’t—don't touch me if this is just some kind of post mortem,” Fjord murmurs. “I’m really tired of breaking up with people tonight.”

 

“Okay,” Caleb nods. He doesn’t let go, and Fjord’s eyes widen. “Astrid is out of the picture. I don’t think she was ever really in the picture, but I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for how I treated you.” He squeezes Fjord’s hand tightly. “My head...it wasn’t in the right place. The way I treated you—that wasn’t about anything you did. You were the one good part of my life and I let all the bad shit ruin us.” Caleb takes a deep breath. “That’s not an excuse, but it is the truth.”

 

Fjord nods but says nothing. “And you’re not my student anymore,” Caleb admits. “Which makes things easier.”

 

“What, like you didn’t think that was a little hot,” Fjord chides. Caleb rolls his eyes.

 

A long sigh hisses between Fjord’s teeth as he turns to Caleb. “There’s something you should know. My patron and I—it’s done. I ended it tonight.”

 

Caleb nods before blurting out, “I know.” Fjord’s eyes widen at the admission. “I saw you two together. Didn’t know if you were going to fuck or fight.”

 

Fjord shrugs. “Didn’t know what I was going to do myself. Not until it was happening.” He laughs a little under his breath.

 

“What’s so funny?” Caleb asks, smiling himself. It’s a beautiful laugh.

 

“It just feels nice not to owe the world jack shit,” Fjord beams. Caleb drinks him in. He does appear lighter, like whatever invisible burden he used to carry has been removed from his shoulders.

 

“I think, maybe, the world owes you something good,” Caleb tries. “Or at least maybe I do.”

 

“Caleb,” Fjord says, “let’s just call us even.”

 

“Okay, then.” Caleb releases his grip on Fjord’s hand so that he can take his face in both palms. “We’re even.” Caleb reaches up on his toes to meet Fjord’s lips with his own. Fjord makes a noise in the back of his throat, gripping at Caleb’s lapels tightly. His lips are chapped and he tastes like salt and Caleb wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

“You wanna come upstairs?” Fjord asks softly as Caleb breaks away. Fjord must see the blush on Caleb’s cheeks because he laughs. “I really do have to pack. No funny business.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

There’s a little funny business that night, but Fjord makes his bus to Port Damali on time the next morning all the same.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**four months later**

 

Caleb is sitting on the stands of the swimming facility. Everything smells like pool in here, and Caleb is certain that his clothes are going to stink of chlorine for the rest of the day. A book is precariously balanced on his knees as the swim meet participants gather for its first heat.

 

“Oh _wow_ , that guy _super_ handsome,” a girl a few rows down from Caleb swoons. Her words are lightly accented and she’s wearing dark blue overalls with her hair tied in two short pigtails. “He’s a sophomore, right?”

 

“I think he lives in Alfield Hall,” her redheaded friend nods. “Jester, the things I would do…” He makes a guttural groan that Caleb can’t help but smirk at. Caleb follows their eye-line to where Fjord is stretching in a speedo that barely does its job at keeping Fjord decent. The long line of his abdomen illuminated by the reflection of the pool surface is indeed a sight to see.

 

Fjord waves over at Caleb with a delighted expression on his face.

 

“Oh my God, he definitely just waved at me,” Jester gasps excitedly.

 

“Definitely,” her companion agrees.

 

“Scooch the fuck over,” Beau commands, waving at Caleb as she and Yasha make their way onto the stands next to him.

 

“Hello, Caleb,” Yasha waves.

 

Caleb waves back while Beau shouts, “YOU GOTTA IMPRESS YOUR BOYFRIEND, FJORD, HE LEFT THE LIBRARY FOR A REASON!”

 

Caleb turns beet red while Fjord gives the group of them a thumbs up. “No sweat.”

 

Fjord wins every heat.


End file.
